Where Does The Time Go?
by smilingdamnedvillain
Summary: Fifty years is a long time. Oneshot.


I'm beginning to lose track of time. The minutes, the hours, the days – they all seem to blend into one another amidst this dense fog. Was it five years now since I've stood on land? I've tracked time with the hourglass and written down the days in a journal, but it seems to be slowly slipping through my bony fingers like sand, or perhaps the mist. Surely the time I've spent within the mist is even longer – at least fifty years.

Is the sky the same sky as I remember it? Is the moon the same moon I see in my memories? What about the stars? The clouds and the sun? What about the lands I've visited in my youth? Are they the same? The plants and the animals? The people? Entire generations have grown up whilst I've drifted on this ship, growing old.

But now is no time for musing! The tea is done! I push my skeletal frame off it's buttocks, though I no longer possess them, and I hop, skip and jump to the kitchen! A gentleman's rightful beverage – one I've quite taken to over the years. I pour my cup of tea and sit myself down, taking the weight off my shoulders as I sip my drink. Truly, this is to know bliss.

Why, I can now remember their laughter and mirth! Oh, the joys of music and singing – of laughter and tears! I find myself busting my gut as I look back on that time and remember beautiful times, even though I have no stomach! Why, I can feel a song eager to be sung! There is no doubt – I must write it down!

Setting aside my tea like a gentleman I race to the nearest sheet of paper and begin writing music. I find myself shaking to my bones as I write, entranced by wondrous delight. Oh, I find myself unable to wait until the Captain is able to hear!

But then I pause and look at what I've written – musical notes scribbled atop a sheet already covered in music. I remember the anguished face of my Captain and I find myself wondering – what was I doing? My hollow skull turns its gaze around the room, seeing the cobwebs and dust.

I suddenly remember that everyone is gone. There is no one here to listen to my music or share conversation with. There is no audience nor even a guest. There is just dust and creaking wood and bones stripped of their meat. I stand alone upon the ship, just as I always have.

It feels like yesterday, too. Where is the time? I can still hear their laughter in the walls. Their singing, their shouting, their tears – they seem so real even now, yet I know they cannot. I almost wish I couldn't remember them.

I turn and take my cup and saucer, heading out onto the deck. I stand by the railing and lean upon it, my bony finger curled around the handle of my cup as I sip my tea. I can still remember the moon and the stars and the sun. But that's all they are now, aren't they? Memories of a time long gone by.

But what are memories, if not to be enjoyed? I smile to myself as only a skeleton can, humming a tune to myself. I can still see their faces and hear their voices. I can still recall their final wishes. What does it matter if I must wait another fifty years? Or indeed, even a hundred! As the last of the Rumbar Pirates, I have been entrusted with a glorious purpose – to pass on their Swan Song!

I sing and laugh as I look out into the misty seas of the Florian Triangle. This is nothing to worry about! Why, I've already lasted so long, what have I to fear? I sing some more, remembering my fondest memories of Captain Yorki and Laboon. The memory of their smiles would warm my heart, if only I still had one!

I can even feel the tears streaming down my face as though they were yesterday, dripping into the ocean below. My bony finger wipes my cheek, thinking for a moment that the memory is real. I must be having quite strong memories, for the tears feel so real trickling down my face.

But what do I have to cry about? What could possibly bring a man to tears in this endless fog? Why would I possibly cry here and now? I laugh again, finding it so foolish. A gentleman shouldn't cry so easily. A gentleman must always be composed.

A gentleman must always be composed.


End file.
